


Fit for a King

by EllaO



Series: You Are My Crowning Glory [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Kid Fic, M/M, Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 05:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2953496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllaO/pseuds/EllaO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the eve of his tenth wedding anniversary, HRH Prince Louis tells a bedtime story to his daughters about how he met and fell in love with their father. Featuring flashbacks and present day fluff and His Royal Majesty, King Henry IX.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fit for a King

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hilarry13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hilarry13/gifts).



> This is for hilarry13 and her royalty prompt! I started this about ten different times in different iterations, but this is the version that stuck, so I hope you like it!

**Buckingham Palace, Present Day**

Louis has spent a lifetime tying ties.

He wears a tie every day to the hospital, with a crisp white shirt and trousers, under his labcoat, and has done since he was a second year medical student. He has hundreds of ties - literally hundreds of ties - on the wall rack in his wardrobe room, all sorted by color and then material. Just for fun, he requests the staff do it by rainbow colors, so it looks like something of a gay mecca from the inside of his room. He has medical patterned ties, holiday ties, ties with rude sayings (those never see the light of day anymore, sadly) and ties that cost hundreds of pounds (usually gifts from extraneous relatives). He can tie a windsor knot to perfection, and even some of the more creative knots make an appearance as well. The Eldredge. The Van Wijk. The Trinity. He can do them all.

But for the life of him, he still struggles with tying a bow tie.

“Motherfucker,” he spits as he pulls too hard on one end and the carefully crafted tie falls apart completely. It’s the fourth time he’s attempted the knot, and his frustration only increases with each loop around his neck. A glance at the clock on his dresser tells him that he doesn’t have the time to fuck around anymore, tie or no tie. The guests will start arriving soon, and he wants to spend half an hour with the girls before heading downstairs.  

His selects his favorite watch (a gift from ten years ago precisely) and his favorite cufflinks, hastily fastening everything as he pulls his shirtsleeve for one last adjustment. Studying himself in the mirror, he smoothes down his hair and then spends a quick moment evaluating whether or not he’s developing more wrinkles than normal. Deciding there’s nothing to be done about it tonight, he straightens himself and slips into the Italian leather lace ups, using the bench at the foot of the bed to tie the laces accordingly. Taking the tuxedo jacket from where it’s been spread on the bed, he folds it over one arm and turns the lights out in the bedroom to make his way through the private drawing room and into the hall.

Louis had been completely out of his depth when the move had finally been made into the prive apartments. He had grown up in a house too small for all its inhabitants, and then gone straight to university, where he and Zayn had shared a room in St. Salvador’s Hall comfortably for two years before moving off campus. After that, it had been an apartment with the lads in St. Andrews, followed by a tiny apartment in Manchester while he completed Medical School. The flat in London had been nicer than where he’d ever lived before - a precursor to moving into Kensington. But nothing could have prepared him for the opulence of the private apartments. The rooms aren’t really suited to their lifestyle choices, but they make it work, he supposes. After three years, there’s really no other choice.

In their main drawing room - the only room in the apartments that actually serves as a drawing room, Louis finds Ella, his aide and assistant extraordinaire

“Good evening, Ella. You look smashing.”

She’s dressed demurely in a black conservative cocktail dress, her blonde hair pulled into an elegant bun. Ella’s been with Louis since the coronation, and he honestly has no idea what he’d do without her. Sometimes he thinks she’s what keeps the entire family running.

“Dr. Tomlinson. You look quite handsome yourself. Or you would if you were wearing your bow tie.”

Louis grimaces in defeat and hands over the offending article. Ella sets down her phone and her ipad and takes it from him, humming as he arches his neck to give her more room. What he spent fifteen minutes struggling with takes her less than one. Overachiever.

“The girls?”

“In the nursery.”

“They’ve eaten, at least?”

His daughters have a way of throwing a wrench into even the most carefully planned of schedules. It’s a trait they’ve had since birth, when their surrogate went into labor two weeks earlier than expected. London had been hosting the Olympics and the opening ceremonies had been in full swing when an aid had whispered into Louis’ ear.

“I’ve been told they’re all dressed for bed,” Ella assures him, glancing at her watch. “You need to leave the apartment in a half hour - at the latest.”

She straightens the bow, and Louis kisses her cheek in gratitude. “Thanks for all your help on tonight, Ells. Honestly - we so appreciate it.”

“It was my pleasure. I’ll let the staff know to expect us at seven-twenty.”

Louis leaves Ella in the drawing room and makes his way to the “nursery,” which the staff use to refer to the playroom, girls’ bedroom and bathroom. The playroom is, as usual, a giant mess, stuffed with animals, legos, dolls and all assortment of toys. The alphabet carpet is out of order and there looks to be a new juice stain on the settee that the cleaning staff will no doubt work their magic on soon enough.

Entering the girls’ bedroom, Louis is prepared to be greeted with all manor of bedlam, and is shocked when he finds only his daughters tucked into their beds, and their nanny sitting in the rocking chair knitting. Mrs. Landomb looks up as Louis, smiling and rising from the chair, putting her knitting aside. Louis lays his tuxedo jacket on the foot of Cesily’s bed, grinning like mad at his daughters.

“Daddy!” Cesily and Tilly both reach their arms out, and Louis laughs, heading to hug first Cesily, then her older sister (by three minutes).

“Hello my loves. Mrs. Landcomb, have you eaten? Please go relax for a bit and have a bite. I want to get these little monsters tucked in.”

When it’s just the three of them left in the bedroom, Louis eases himself to sit on the side of Tilly’s bed. Their entire bedroom has been done with the soft glow of fairy lights, reflecting lovely shadows onto the cream colored walls. Rather than paint, they had opted to keep the bedroom as it was, with touches of cream and gold, adding in comfortable furnishings and decorations to make it feel like a loved space for the girls.  

“Look at you two, all washed and fed and ready for bed. It’s a miracle!”

Freddie, the family labradoodle, looks up sleepily at the sound of Louis’ voice. He leaves his dogbed in the corner of room and trots over to lay at Louis’ feet between the girls’ beds. It’s where he sleeps most nights anyway, once the girls have been left alone. That or in Cesily’s bed.

“Daddy, can’t we go to the party? Please? We’ve been so good all day.”

It’s a lie of outlandish proportions, and Louis laughs unabashedly at his daughters.

“Good all day? So it wasn’t you two who rubbed a balloon all over Freddie this morning to see his hair all staticy? Or refused to put on coats for afternoon walk? Or put pepper in Mrs. Corday’s tea? My mistake, must have been two other Princess’.”

He can see the excuses flitting into Cesily’s head and hastily cuts her off. “You need to apologize to Mrs. Corday tomorrow morning - before you go to church with Grandnana, alright? But unfortunately, darlings, no, you can’t come to the party tonight. And no - it has nothing to do with how good you were today. It’s a grown up only party.”

Tilly pouts, immediately, crossing her arms and sticking out her lip. Louis makes a clucking noise and strokes a hand down her head, trying to ward off a tantrum.

“But everyone’s coming. Uncle Niall said he bought special party shoes!”

That makes Louis snort. “Your Uncle Niall will be wearing his same white converse that he’s been wearing for years, love. And you’ll see him next week for Bizzy’s birthday party.”

She brightens, briefly, at the mention of Bizzy’s birthday party. Bizzy and the twins are about six months apart and have been best friends since they were first introduced, when the twins were just two weeks old. The three of them are constantly running around the building, wreaking havoc and terrorizing the childcare staff. Louis doesn’t know why anyone is surprised; a child of Niall’s and twins that have half of the Tomlinson genes in them? Please.

“But Daddy, why can’t we go to the party tonight? Please?”

“Not tonight, Angel. Besides, it won’t be very fun for you. None of your friends will be there and it’ll be all boring adult stuff.”

Tilly still looks sad, and Cesily dramatically throws herself back against her pillows, cuddling her stuffed giraffe closer to her chest. The giraffe is basically held together by thread and goodwill - it was a gift from Louis’ mother upon the twins’ birth. Cesily got the giraffe and Tilly the elephant, and while Tilly never quite took to stuffed animals, Cesily cannot be parted from Howard, her trusty giraffe.

“It’s not fair. Grownups have all the fun.”

Louis spent the better part of his day sitting in tea meetings with major donors of his patron organizations, so he would beg to disagree, but he only nods sagely. “I know you feel that way now, sweetheart, but I promise you’re really not missing anything.”

“Why are you and Papa having a big party, Daddy?”

Cesily creeps out of her bed and climbs onto Louis’ lap, wrapping her arm around his neck. Her frou-frou nightgown, as she refers to it, is dark purple with ruffles and little sparkles, and it makes her look every inch the Princess that she is. Pulling Cesily more securely onto his lap, he smiles at Tilly, reaching out to twirl a lock of her hair around his finger. She looks so like her Papa - they both do, obviously - but Tilly inherited all of his mannerisms and facial expressions, while Ceisily has turned into Louis’ own mini-me. Of course, they’re half Tomlinson as well, so that makes a difference. The genetic material they inherited from Lottie’s ‘donation’ to project Let’s Have a Baby consists of 100% mischief and troublemaking.

“We’re having a party because your Papa and I have been married for ten years.”

Cesily’s eyes widen and she digs her nails into her giraffe’s fur. “You’ve known Papa for ten years?”

Louis laughs, brushing her hair out of her face. “I’ve been married to your Papa for ten years. I’ve known him for twenty years.”

Tilly squeaks in shock, rolling side to side in her little pocket of blankets. “That’s so long.”

The twins turned six in August, and the concept of time passing without them is still mindblowing.

“It is a long time.”

“How did you meet him?”

Smiling, Louis thinks back on the first time he met their Papa, twenty years earlier. It seems like lifetimes ago, and in some ways it was. His life has certainly changed a million times over since then.

“I met him at university. At St. Andrews. In Scotland.”

They’re familiar with Scotland, since they spend a few weeks out of the year at Balmoral, but the girls have never been to St. Andrews. They should rectify that soon.

“I didn’t know you lived in Scotland, Daddy.”

“For three years I did. While I was studying to become a doctor. It was when I was eighteen.”

Cesily looks skeptical that he was ever the tender age of eighteen, but Louis chooses not to take offense to that, and instead tickles her sides until she’s shrieking and wiggling around in his lap. He tosses her next to her sister and goes to work on Tilly’s ribs, making her giggles ring out in the bedroom. Freddie, much accustomed to the noise (and oftentimes the third party in whatever mischief they get up to) simply looks up sleepily.

“Tell us the story!”

Louis glances to the bookshelf, bursting with fairytales and storybooks, as well as numerous sets of classics that they want to eventually read with the girls. “Okay, what’ll it be? Hansel and Gretel? Or should we go through Red Riding Hood again?”

He stands up to get the big book of fairytales, but Cesily pulls at his hand and rolls her eyes. “No, the story of you and Papa.”

Louis sits back down on the bed, smile taking over his features. Identical pairs of glittery green eyes stare back at him expectantly, dimples apparent as they put on their most angelic expressions.

“The story of me and Papa? Hmm.” He ignores the danger of wrinkling his tux pants and crawls onto the bed so he can sit over the blanket, a girl tucked underneath each of arm. They smell like soap and fruity shampoo, and Louis finds himself missing - not for the first time - the smell of baby powder and newborn. “Let me see if I can remember back that far. It was definitely September, because that’s when all the freshers moved into the dorms.”

“Was Granny there?”

Nodding at Tilly, Louis pulls the giraffe from Cesily so that it sits in his lap, slumped over one leg. He crosses his ankles and leans against Tilly’s headboard. It’s nice to cuddle up with the girls, still. He’s scared for the day when they’ll be too cool for cuddles.

“She was. She and all your aunts. Well, except your Uncle Ernie and Aunt Doris. They were just babies then and so they stayed behind with your Grandfather. Now, let me think...Oh yes. I was young and dashing, handsome and charming, obviously.”

Cesily giggles, butting her nose into his ribs. “Don’t fib, Daddy! Tell us the story?”

“Excuse you,” he exclaims in mock outrage. “I will have you know I was very handsome. Quite a catch, all the lads used to say. Your Papa’s very lucky that he managed to trick me into falling in love with him with his magic eyes and his pretty curls.”

“Curls like mine?” Tilly asks, shaking her hair so her corkscrews go dancing across her shoulders. Left to dry on it’s own devices, her hair has turned into a riot of curls, untamed and uninhibited. That’ll be fun to deal with in the morning. Cesily prefers her hair braided after bathtime, so Mrs. Landcomb has given her two plaits, which makes life endlessly easier.

“Yes. Curls just like yours. And yours.”

“Was it love at first sight?” Cesily queries, tiny face awash with excitement.

Louis chuckles, thinking back on his first day at St. Andrews. To the hustle and bustle of moving in and life changing, and lads being on their own for the first time. To the dorm room he shared with Zayn and the view of the Quad from out the window, and the sounds of FIFA that were ever present on their floor.

And to Harry. Always to Harry.

“No, petal, I can’t say that I did. In fact, I didn’t even like your Papa when I first met him.”

 

 

**Year One. Martinmas Semester. September.**

Moving into his dorm at St. Andrews is one of the most surreal experiences that Louis has ever had the pleasure to experience. As far as experiences go. Or something.

It’s certainly one of the best days of his life, and he’s been looking forward to it for fucking months - ever since he stepped foot on campus for his interview. He’d been torn between St. Andrews and Cambridge, at first, and had been considering some of the schools in London as well, but as soon as he arrived in Scotland for his interview, he’d known. It would be St. Andrews or nothing.

He loves the feel of the university, the sense of old in the air and the atmosphere that permeates the buildings and classrooms. Everyone is young but there’s a sense of history that makes everything seem traditional. It’s a far cry from the classrooms and streets in Doncaster, where Louis was practically growing out of his skin. He needs the promise of university, the space to flourish and learn and devote himself to medicine.

Louis needs to be free.

“And your laundry, Louis. Every week, I’m serious. You’ve only enough underwear to last you eight days so you have to do a load every single week.”

“Mum,” he’s horrified, burying his face in his hands and wishing he could smother himself with a pillow. “I’ll do my laundry, okay?”

The dorm room that he’s been assigned is seemingly spacious. It’s certainly not the cramped little annexes that the telly would have him believe all university rooms are like. But when packed with his entire family - his entire gaggle of sisters, save the smallest twins and Dan - along with his roommate Zayn’s family, it feels positively stifling.

“I’m just saying, Louis. These are things you’re going to be responsible for, now that you’re on your own.” Jay sounds exasperated, a tone Louis is well familiar with.

“Yeah, Lou. You’re going to have to grow up and do your own laundry now.”

He throws his pillow at Lottie, who has only tagged along to torture him. She and Fizzy keep arguing about which of his possessions they can divvy up, and who gets his room, now that he’s out of the house. They’ve helped not one bit in the unpacking, and instead situated themselves at the windows to point out all the cute guys they can see on the quad. Useless, useless sisters.

“Oi! I do my own laundry, Lots.”

“Yeah, like once a month.”

Standing at the closet, where she’s unpacking Zayn’s clothes, Mrs. Malik snickers and sends Louis’ mum a sympathetic glance. “Same with Zayn. You boys need to keep each other in line.”

Louis and Zayn trade twin looks of mutiny. They’ve been texting for most of the summer - ever since roommate assignments went out. He thinks they’ll get on well. Zayn’s not homophobic or a prude, nor does he seem adverse to a good bowl and some fun. Basically everything that a good roommate ought to be.

They’ve also been united in their embarrassment over their families, right from the moment that Zayn and his family walked into the dorm room and he introduced his little sister Safaa who announced “Zayn cried when he said goodbye to the cat last night.”

And that had been that. The twins and Safaa had been instant friends, while Waliyha had easily bonded with Lottie and Fizz.

“Get off the bed so we can put your sheets down, Louis.”

Rolling his eyes, he snuggles further onto his mattress. “Just leave it, please? I promise I’ll put the sheets on.”

But his mum knows him too well, since she only puts a hand on her hip and narrows her eyes. “No you won’t. You’ll sleep on a bare mattress with blankets forever if we don’t put it on now. Come on, Louis, get moving. We haven’t got all day.”

Under supreme protest, he helps his mum make the bed, then forces her to sit down and relax while he sets up his things on the desk. Luckily, his mum and Mrs. Malik have found endless subjects to talk about (mostly subjects that make Louis and Zayn out to be helpless kittens out alone in the big, bad world) so he’s off her radar for a bit while he sets up the speakers and his anatomy books.

Zayn’s an art history major and he’s clearly an artist, since he hangs up some of his own drawings along with replicas of famous artworks. The two of them groove to the hip hop emanating from the quad while they unpack their shit, maneuvering around the older girls and stepping over the younger girls who have started some sort of clapping game on the floor.

By the time their room is set up to their mums’ liking, the two of them are more than ready to be left by themselves. Instead, the entire clan makes their way to IT services to get their laptops settled with the wireless before heading back to the dorms for a last once-over. The girls (and the mums) exchange phone numbers and friend each other on facebook, much to both Louis and Zayn’s extreme displeasure. Louis practically herds his family out of the dorm, but gives all the girls multiple hugs and kisses, making sure to embarrass Lottie as much as possible in front of all the cute boys on the quad. His mum slips him some money and tells him not to be an idiot and kisses him fondly before she gets into the van, making him promise to find a good balance between studying hard and having fun.

The two of them trek back to their room, where they promptly collapse onto their beds to complain about how awful (wonderful) their sisters and mothers are and how much they won’t (will obviously) miss them.

“Oi, anyone up for a beer?”

It’s a short blonde boy who speaks from the doorway, holding two six-packs of Irish Stout and wearing a dopey smile. He’s flanked by a lazy looking ginger who nods in greeting before leaning against the doorway.

“Always, though I don’t know if Irish Stout really qualifies. Louis. And that’s Zayn.”

The boy shakes their hands and collapses next to Louis on the bed, passing bottles around. “Niall, and that’s Ed. We’re your neighbors.”

It turns out that Niall is an excitable little irishman, and Ed is a chill-as-fuck musician. The four of them immediately get on, and Niall has them in stitches within minutes, telling them the story of his admission interview in Mullinger. He seems like a nice lad - easy going and fun. He wants to study business, and within fifteen minutes has told him of three separate schemes he has to make some quick cash. Louis loves him immediately.

They chill for a half hour or so, trading information in a casual way as they get to know each other. Ed is there studying literature, which means they all have different concentrations. Louis likes that, since he’ll basically be buried in the medical school for his three years at St. Andrews.

They’ve started in on the second six-pack when there’s a knock on the open door and the four of them look up in surprise to see a man in an expensive, tailored suit standing in the doorway.

“Louis Tomlinson and Zayn Malik?”

Louis and Zayn wave in greeting.

“Good. The room next door was empty. The two of you wouldn’t happen to be Niall Horan and Edward Sheeran?”

Ed winces and Louis sticks his tongue out at him. “S’just Ed.”

“Right. Paul Higgins, it’s nice to meet you lads. Welcome to St. Andrews”

Arching an eyebrow, Louis crosses his arms and looks up at Paul. There’s something weird about him that seems out of place. His suit is too nice to be on the university staff, and he’s - well, quite frankly, enormous in bulk and stature.

“Are you the welcoming committee, Mr. Higgins?”

He’s a little shit sometimes (most of the time) but Louis honestly can’t help it. Paul doesn’t look amused.

“Unfortunately not, Mr. Tomlinson. I’m head of security detail.”

“We have a security detail? There was nothing about that in the brochure! My mum will be beside herself. She’s always worrying about me.”

Niall let’s out a loud snort, his face turning red as he tries to stifle his laughter. Zayn and Ed just look confused, and Louis can feel something start to come together but he’s having trouble pinning it down. Paul gives a long suffering sigh, as if he just knows that Louis is going to be trouble, and opens his folder to withdraw four pieces of paper.

“I’m not campus security. I’m head of security for the Prince. He’s on your floor. I assume that the four of you read the privacy statement that you signed before arriving on campus?”

Louis honest to god doesn’t know how to respond. It’s a situation he’s never encountered before in his life, and while he’s sure his mum would have something to say about that (thank the angels) he feels woefully out of his depth.

“Sorry - did you say the Prince? As in Prince Harry? On this floor?”

Everyone and their dog knows that Prince Harry is enrolled at St. Andrews for university. When the palace made the announcement in March, there was apparently a surge of late acceptances from students - enough that there had been a bit of a dicey housing crises. Every paper and news station in the country had reported on the Prince’s university plans, and his intention of having a ‘normal’ university experience. It had been god-awful, having to be teased by every single person he encountered, telling him to “give their best to the Prince.” And then the university had sent out the papers for accommodation and student conduct, which included a privacy statement about things that could and couldn’t (nothing could, everything couldn’t) be told to the press, or anyone, about the prince.

It had been annoying, really, hearing over and over that Prince Harry would be attending the same university Louis had worked so hard to get into. It made it seem less competitive, really. Like St. Andrews was just a place that royalty went and not a place that students chose for a rigorous education.

And honestly, it hadn’t even crossed Louis’ mind that he would have any interaction with the prince. Louis is enrolled in the medical school, so he won’t take any other classes while he’s there. The medical school is literally only for people who will become doctors, and since the Prince is the heir apparent, and will one day be King, there was little indication their paths would cross.

“Yes. He’s across the hall from you. Did the four of you read the privacy statement, or did you simply sign it? Either way, here, this is the statement again briefing you on what you’ve agreed to - no discussion of any kind with the press or mention of the Prince’s whereabouts on social media in the present. This is also a list of security measures and rules for your floor and-”

“-Hang on,” he interrupts, glancing over Paul’s handout. “What do you mean floor rules? Like university rules?”

“No, unfortunately not. Your floor will be subject to stricter scrutiny than the rest. If you have guests on this floor, they’ll need to be checked in by the guard.”

“What do you mean checked in?”

Louis wonders if he’s asking more questions than Paul expected, since the older man glares at him a bit. Next to him, Niall looks flabbergasted as he reads through the regulations, while Zayn and Ed look skeptically at the handout.

“If they’re a St. Andrews student they’ll already be in our database, so they’ll be let through without any hassle. Anyone not affiliated with the university will need to be run through our system. It’s like a quick background check.”

“Are you kidding? That’s absurd.”

“I know it’s a hassle, but unfortunately we cannot avoid protocol and guarantee the Prince’s safety. I’d like to point out that security on this floor is not here to monitor you in any way - we are only here to respond to any threats or imminent danger to the Prince. Any breaking of university regulations falls strictly outside our jurisdiction.”

Louis scans down the list of protocol that he’s been handed, eyes flitting quickly over each sentence. “What does this mean - scanned for weapons?”

“It goes back to the guest policy. Anyone not on the university list will need to have their bag checked.”

“So it’s like an airport, basically?”

Paul shrugs, closing his folder. “We do apologize for the inconvenience. The entire security team will do their best to be as unobtrusive as possible. If you have any further questions, the security room is 409.”

He leaves, presumably to continue his pilgrimage down the hall, and Louis gets up to close the door.

“Blimey,” Niall finally lets out. “Didn’t think I’d be on the same floor as the Prince of Wales.”

Louis leans against the door, stewing. He’s not sure why he’s so unreasonably annoyed. Only that it feels like he’s in a situation that is decidedly not the norm for anyone else who’s had to live in St. Salvador’s Hall. He’d listed it as his first choice because of the tradition it holds, but the thought of having a team of security around makes his skin crawl. It’ll certainly put a damper in any pranks he thinks up, no matter what they say about not reporting to the university.

“Yeah. I mean, I understand why they didn’t list which dorm he’d be in, but like, I kind of wish I’d had the option to request to live somewhere else once I knew,” Zayn adds.

Louis decides right then that he’s not going to let the situation bother him. He has no interest in trying to worm his way up to the Prince, so there’s no reason to be overly concerned about the extra security members. Instead, he claps his hands together and rubs them.

“Don’t be silly, Zayn. Then you wouldn’t have had the privilege of having me as a roommate. Now, Niall. I believe you said something about a guitar. Let’s hit up the quad and see if we can attract the attention of some pretty lads.”

There’s a moment where the other three look at each other as if they aren’t sure whether not to proclaim Louis their leader, but then Niall nods, and Zayn shrugs, and Ed bobs his head to some unknown beat, and it’s decided right then and there.

They make their way out to the quad and settle down in the sunshine, laughing and chatting with some girls they picked up on the way who live a floor down. Leigh-Anne, Jade, Eleanor, and Perrie, are a lively bunch of ladies who fit in with them seamlessly. Leigh-Anne has a kick around with Louis on the lawn, telling him about her summer spent in Barbados with her cousins. Louis has been literally nowhere, so he enjoys hearing about other people’s travels. Jade and Perrie sing along with Niall to whatever random tunes he plucks out on his guitar, and Eleanor relaxes in the sunshine while Zayn starts sketching whatever trees and shrubs are in spitting distance.

They eventually make their way to the Sallie’s dining hall where they take over an entire table, and spend an hour laughing through a meal. Eventually, someone mentions the Warden meetings for each floor, and they trudge up the stairs, leaving the girls on two and making their way up to the third. There’s no security anything set up yet - probably that will come once all the families leave campus, Louis surmises. He and Zayn walk with Niall to drop off the guitar, making fun of the large irish flag that he’s strung up on his wall, and exclaiming over the sick music system Ed brought with him.

As they head toward the common room, Zayn nearly runs into a well-built lad coming out of the room across from theirs. He’s got a crew cut and a puppydog expression and he’s wearing a St. Andrews Rugby sweatshirt and jeans.

“Are you across the hall, then? Liam Payne.”

He even sounds like a good boy, and Louis wants to dislike him immediately, but finds he can’t. There’s something just too earnest in his expression. He walks with them to the common room as they find seating on a couch and the table behind it, all stuffed together to make room for the rest of the lads on their floor.

“Did you spend all afternoon on the quad, then? I heard you lot leave but I had practice today so I couldn’t really hang about to meet people.”

They learn quickly that Liam is on the mens second rugby team, and as such, has been there for two weeks already. He’s from Wolverhampton, which he says is a very boring place, and Louis is inclined to believe him. Not everyone can love their hometown as much as Louis loves Doncaster.

It’s Niall who finally addresses the elephant in the room, while they’re still waiting for the rest of their floor to assemble.  

“So, if you’re across the hall from us, does that mean you’re the Prince’s roommate? I guess I thought he’d have a single.”

Liam nods, picking at the seam of his jeans. He looks like such a bro - snapback, kicks, cool jeans - but there’s none of the bluster that Louis usually associates with awful bros who play rugby. Which, Louis was quick to point out upon introduction, does not require nearly as much skill as football.

“Yeah, he’s my roommate. It’s proper weird, really, thinking of him as like, ‘the future king’. He’s just a normal guy. Goes by Harry, though, not the formal title and all.”

“How long have you known you’d be rooming together?”

“Um, I found out last week? Like, the assistant warden came to my room and like, explained it? And then we e-mailed a bit. To be honest, I thought something was a bit off, since I knew I didn’t have a single but I didn’t get any roommate information. But he seems like a cool lad. Got in this morning, actually.”

Louis raises his eyebrows. He would literally kill someone if he had arrived on campus only to find out that he’d have to be rooming with Prince Harry and what appears to be the entire police force in St. Andrews. But then again, Liam seems like the type of lad who doesn’t think too deeply about those sorts of details. Not easy going like Niall, but more non-judgemental, like Louis’ mum is always telling him to be.

“So where’s he now, then? Or doesn’t he have to come to hall meetings?”

Liam doesn’t pick up on the sarcasm in Louis’ voice, or he chooses not to address it. Either way, Zayn elbows Louis and he steps on Zayn’s foot in retaliation.

“No, he’s definitely going to try to make it, I think? He had a meeting with the Chancellor this afternoon and then I think he had dinner with the president of the union?”

The way Liam forms everything like a question might be good for dealing with Louis’ admittedly horrible attitude to life in general. As it is, he doesn’t have time to respond because their warden calls the meeting and they spend the next hour of their lives listening to a rundown of clubs, activities, module selections, dining options floor regulations and a comment about expecting a photographer to be wandering the hall later to capture moments for the magazine. When it comes to the security part of the talk, Louis rolls his eyes, but keeps the comments to a minimum. Instead, he asks approximately seven questions about exactly what type of orange juice is provided in the dining hall, until nearly every person in the room except the warden is practically rolling on the floor with laughter.

After, they joke around with the other lads, and somehow a decent sized group of them end up in Louis and Zayn’s room, shooting the breeze and drinking. They meet George and Aiden, and several boys whose names start with J and all sound alike and Louis can’t bother to remember. There are maybe ten lads crowded into the room, splayed across various pieces of furniture, while Louis himself is sat on the desk, holding court and feeling generally positive about the start of term.

“Lads?” Everyone looks up to see Liam re-entering the room, having apparently slipped out at some point. Behind him, Louis can see a mop of curly hair.

“This is Harry.”

He steps aside, revealing His Royal Highness, the Prince Henry Charles Alexander George, Prince of Wales, Duke of Cornwall, Duke of Rothesay. Second child and heir apparent of Queen Anne II, brother of Gemma, Princess Royal, son of Desmond Styles, Marquess of Hartington.

It’s possible Louis looked him up on his phone’s wikipedia app.   

He’s taller than Louis expected, and curlier. His eyes are a sparkling green and he’s lanky as fuck, painted into skinny jeans and chelsea boots, a black t-shirt with the neckline low enough to show off his collarbones. He’s pigeon toed and nervous looking, chewing on a bright red lip and his hands tucked into his back pockets.

“Um, Hi. I’m Harry,” he mumbles, trying out the room. Everyone’s fallen silent, basically outright staring at him.

There’s a long moment of silence, where nobody knows what to do - least of all, it seems, the Prince - before Niall saves the day by waving from his spot at the head of Louis’ bed.

“Hey. Niall. And this is Zayn, and Louis. S’their room.”

Zayn waves a bit, and Louis raises his eyebrows in acknowledgement. The rest of the lads offer their names, and when they’ve all introduced themselves, Niall offers Harry a beer, which he accepts. Liam sits himself back down on the bed, and Harry tentatively leans against Zayn’s dresser, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles.

“So. Liam says we’re just supposed to call you Harry.”

Thank god for Niall and his affable nature. The Prince nods, takes a swig of his bottle and swallows. Louis resolutely does not watch the way his neck muscles work.

“Yeah, that’d be great. I mean, it’s my name, so.”

And like - Louis can’t help it. He just can’t. “But like, you’re royalty. You’re the Prince of Styles.” He infuses as much fake awe into his tone as possible. “Just wouldn’t feel right not addressing you properly.”

Harry flushes, smile pulling at his lips. “Just a regular lad, really. Harry Wales, technically, here. Or Harry Styles.”

His nickname is Harry, Prince of Style, though Louis has privately thought that the Prince’s fashion sense was somewhat lacking. What’s weird is that standing in Louis’ dorm room, he looks familiar. His face is certainly familiar enough - plastered on every rag and newspaper since he was born. Louis has watched the Prince - and his sister - grow up from the comfort of Doncaster, but it’s odd to suddenly be in his presence. In the flesh, as it were.

Niall nods, as if Harry’s issued words of wisdom. “Harry Styles it is, then. Say, if you’re a Prince, you probably know all the best places to visit in Britain, yeah? Never been outta Ireland meself before this, so I’m making a list of places to visit over the next four years.”

Louis hadn’t known that. He looks at Niall, scandalized. “You’re telling me you’ve never left that floating meadow? First thing you need to do is head to a United game.”

“Sorry, Lou. Derby supporter through and through.”

Outrageous. Louis and Niall immediately get into a debate on the merits (or lack thereof) of Derby, which offends Louis on a personal level. The rest of the lads fall into their own discussions - especially Zayn and Liam, who are very heatedly discussing comic books. Nerds.  

“You’re a United fan, then?” Harry ventures, lip of the bottle just kissing his bottom lip. Louis nods, draping the United scarf he’d stowed away in his closet around his neck..

“Born and raised.”

Harry’s eyes light up in excitement. “We’ll have to go sometime. My family keeps a box there.”

It’s such an obnoxious thing to say that Louis immediately wants to scoff. Harry’s exactly like all the rich aresholes in he’s encountered, bragging about money in such an offhand manor. Instead he gives him a tight smile and shakes his head.

“Thanks, but I’ve always liked sitting in the stands. True fan experience.” And promptly turns to one of the J’s to ask about whether or not he thinks City has an actual chance.

They hang out for a bit longer, but they’re all growing lads, and eventually dinner calls.

 

 

**Buckingham Palace, Present Day**

“That was the first time you met Papa?”

Louis’ summary of his first meeting with their Papa leaves the girls underwhelmed. Tilly seems particularly disappointed - she’s big on romance these days - but there’s not a whole lot Louis can do to make his early meetings with Harry seem more appealing than they actually were. He was a little shit and that’s really all that can be said for himself.

“It was. He lived in the room across from mine for a whole year. With Uncle Liam.”

“When did you know that you loved him? Did he have to spell it out for you?” Cesily’s recently picked up Harry’s phrase of “spelling it out” when he’s teasing Louis about something. In her know-it-all voice it’s adorable.

“He sort of did, darling. But it still took a while. I didn’t even like him at first.”

Cesily’s eyebrows draw together and she stares up at Louis in suspicion. “Why not? Papa’s lovely. You always say.”

That makes him laugh, and he pulls Cesily closer, rubbing her head. “Papa is lovely, you’re right. But when we first met, I didn’t realize it.”

“Why not?”

Louis tries to consider what to say. He’s not proud of his earliest behavior in university, and when compared to his life today, it makes him feel a little sick. He’d treated Harry so badly, just because of his birth status, and his children now will have to endure the same sort of awful behavior from other people.

“Well, you know how we talk about what it means to be royalty?”

Tilly nods. “Being royalty doesn’t mean that we are any different than anyone else.”  

“Exactly. Because everyone is equal, right? Well, when I first met your Papa, I didn’t understand that. I thought that because he was a Prince, he thought he was better than everyone.”

“But you and Papa always say that’s not true.”

Nodding, Louis fingers his way through Tilly’s hair, trying to bring some order to her tangles and save them some work in the morning before the girls head to church with their Grandnana, the Queen Mother.

“Right, but I didn’t know that. Because I wasn’t paying attention. So I wasn’t trying to understand.”

“Well, did you fall in love after that then?” Tilly’s getting impatient.

“Soon,” Louis promises. “It took a little while.”

It hadn’t happened quickly, Louis remembers. In fact, he’d been awful to Harry those first few months at St. Andrews. Trying to ignore him and generally not giving a shit if he was hurting Harry’s feelings. Not his proudest moment, but part of their history regardless.

 

 

**Year One. Martinmas Semester. October.**

Louis’ first few weeks at St. Andrews were going splendidly. He settled into the dorms and had a nice time with the lads on his floor, and had made quite a number of friends across campus. His classes were hard but invigorating, and he found himself spending long hours in the library or hitting the books in his room every single night, trying to stay up to date. His Fundamentals of Medicine course was tough, and required endless reading as well as detailed notes, both of which took time and discipline on Louis’ part.

He’s also gotten himself a good, core crew. Zayn is an ace roommate and they are basically the dream team, and Niall and Ed are constantly around. Jade from the floor below is also in the medical program and Louis found her to be a good friend and study buddy early on, and her roommate Eleanor has somehow managed to become one of Louis’ closest friends. El is a language student, wants to have a career that lets her travel, and there’s something about her effortless elegance that Louis adores. They’re mates.

Liam has also become part of their little group, worming his way in between rugby practices and his sustainable development classes. Normally Louis would never deal with anyone as affable as Liam seems to be, but his earnestness somehow became endearing, and Zayn seems fond of him, so Louis has learned how to tease him up to the line where he starts to feel uncomfortable. It’s a fine balance.

But the inclusion of Liam means that the Prince is also always around. Louis permits it only because he doesn’t want to come across as rude, but really. The Prince is the worst.

He’s entitled and boring, and he speaks in sentences so slow Louis’ often lost the point before he even begins to approach the end. His presence outside of the dorm means that they’re constantly accompanied by his security team - a band of ten rotating members who mostly wear bored expressions and curtail any law breaking mischief. They despise Louis almost completely (the golf club incident probably didn’t help), and he knows that their code name for him is “fun size.”

Saturday night, Louis finds himself at a house party thrown by some of the third year business students that Niall has befriended. They’re laddy lads - big and beefy with lots of polo shirts and lame shoes - but they have good alcohol and they throw a good party. Louis and Niall had arrived with Eleanor, and when Niall wandered off ten minutes after their arrival - as he’s wont to do - he and Eleanor had migrated to the kitchen to mix horrendous shots and see who can down them the fastest.

“That was awful, Lou. What was that?”“Jager, vodka, orange soda.”

Eleanor looks like she might throw it back up at the list of ingredients, but at Louis’ warning glance she nods and takes a few deep breaths. “I can’t do anymore. They’re so disgusting. Just pour me a whiskey, please.”

She may look prim, but inside of El lurks the soul of an eighty-year old scotsman. On three unfortunate incidents, she’s been able to drink him, Niall, one of the J’s and Aiden under the table. Niall was hungover (pouting) for the next three days.

“One whiskey coming up.”

He pours a drink for El and tops off his rum and coke just in time to see Zayn and Perrie walk in, Harry hot on their heels.

“Zayn, my most excellent roommate and Perrie, you are the loveliest lady in all the land.”

Since pretty much the start of term, the two of them have been attached at the hip. Louis bugged zayn for an entire week straight to suck it up and ask Perrie on an official date, sensing that true love was afoot. As it turns out, Perrie had no interest in waiting for Zayn to pluck up the courage, and asked him out one night while the entire gang was crowded around a table in the dining hall. They’d gone for pizza and a movie and Perrie has become a semi-permanent fixture in Zayn’s bed since then. Though Louis has made it clear that they aren’t allowed to fuck while he’s in the room. He even wrote it on their shared chalkboard.

Perrie gives him a kiss on the cheek and pulls a bit of his drink to taste before nodding and demanding one of her own. Eleanor hugs Harry hello, asking him if he’s drinking anything particular.

“Anything. Surprise me!”

Eleanor grins, but Louis pulls a regretful face. “I don’t know if we have any champagne…”

Zayn rolls his eyes and Eleanor steps on his foot, but Harry just grins good naturedly. He’s clearly used to Louis’ barbs, and seems to be running for affable fellow number two, right after Liam. Reaching for the tequila, he pours two shots, and hands one to Louis.

“Bottoms up?”

Before Louis can even respond, the Prince knocks back the shot, licking his lips and grinning. In the bright light of the kitchen, his lips look more red than usual. His hands, enormous as they are, look even more giant cradling the small shot glass. Louis swallows reflexively, ignoring the low tug of arousal in his belly. He hasn’t gotten laid in way too long, is all. Too much studying hasn’t left much time for the pull.

The bass from the music playing in the living room is audible through the doorway, and Perrie starts to swivel her hips in Zayn’s direction. “Care to show a lady to the dance floor?”

Before Louis can even open his mouth, Perrie shakes her finger in his direction. “Shut it, Lou. Zayn, come on.”

Eleanor finishes mixing Harry some electric green colored drink and ends up tagging along with them, winking at Louis and mouthing ‘be nice’ as she leaves him alone with Harry. Annoyed, Louis glares at her retreating back, debating whether or not he should follow when Harry pulls three of the limes from the drink table and waves them in Louis’ face.

“Hey, can you juggle?” He immediately starts to throw them up in the air, doing a passable impression of a juggler from a circus. If a juggler had no grace and zero coordination and nearly dropped every object he attempted to juggle.

“What are you even doing here? I thought you were an art history major?” He makes air quotes around the subject since it seems foolish to him that Harry’s going to study something like Art History when he’s just going to become king and spend a bunch of money on useless shit. Counter productive, really.

“I am, but Nelson invited me. He lives here? He’s sort of an old friend.”

Louis raises his eyebrows.

“I mean, I’ve known him a while.”

Still Louis says nothing, staring Harry down. Finally he breaks, sighing and dropping his head. “Fine. He’s titled.”

Satisfied, Louis shrugs and contemplates if he had too many shots that chugging his drink will make him sick. He really doesn’t feel like being sick tonight. He has to get up early and get to the library to start reviewing for the midterm exam.

Maybe he’ll just take large sips, but slowly. That seems like a good plan.

“Can I ask you something? Did I offend you in some way?”

Louis doesn’t bother to look at him, just shrugs and shakes his head. “Nope.”

“So it’s not me, then. You just don’t like the idea of royalty.”

Sighing, Louis finally turns to face him. “I think it’s bullshit. I mean, what is it that makes you think that you’re better than anyone else.”

“I don’t think that I’m better than anyone else. I don’t think that at all.”

“Really? So the security guards, the money, the title, the public appearances - those are all just for fun?”

Harry takes a large sip of his drink, then shrugs. “I was born into a family considered royalty. It wasn’t my choice, nor was it something that I would have picked for myself. But I have to honor the traditions that it comes with.”

“The monarchy is a figurehead. You swan around on our dime, without any real job or responsibility.”

“Someone in my position can do a lot of good.”

Louis sighs deeply. “Look, your highness, I honestly have no interest in this discussion. You stay in your lane and I’ll stay in mine.”

He turns to leave, but the hand on his elbow stops him. “Hey. It’s Harry.”

Mock saluting, Louis nods and leaves him in the kitchen, working his way through the crowd of people gathered in the living room. He walks to the far side, where Eleanor is dancing like a lunatic, her hands up and twirling around and around, lost in the beat of the music. He holds his cup high in the air as he wraps an arm around her waist, watching as she jacknifes and opens her eyes, relaxing when she realizes it’s him. She winds an arm around his neck, moving against him like water, all grace and liquid movement.

“Were you mean to Harry?”

He huffs trying to sip over her shoulder even as she’s twisting in his arms, moving her entire body to a beat that’s decidedly not the song that’s playing over the loudspeakers in the corner.

“I don’t like him.”

“He’s a nice guy. Cut him a break.”

Louis rolls his eyes, turns around so El can wrap her arms around his waist and press her face into his back. He wonders if she’s looking to take someone home for the night, or if he can convince her to cuddle with him in bed. He’s suddenly wanting a nice cuddle session.

Closing his eyes, he tries to match her movements to the unknown beat, losing himself in the music and letting the alcohol thrum through his veins. The Prince - Harry - he’s a problem for another night.

 

 

**Buckingham Palace, Present Day**

“Daddy, I thought this was going to be a love story. When did you and Papa fall in love?”

Tilly’s getting sleepy and impatient, her little fists curling around the edge of the blanket as she presses into Louis’ side.

“Sweetheart, it took a little while. Sometimes it takes people a little while to fall in love. It isn’t always instant like in the movies.”

“But you and Papa love each other, don’t you? You always say you do.”

Cesily’s started to get agitated, squirming about and Louis pulls her into his lap fully since he doesn’t want a full blown meltdown.

“Shh, lovely, of course your Papa and I love each other. You know that. And we did fall in love. It just took a little while.”

“Fine. When did it happen?”

“Well, it started to happen about a month later...”

 

 

**Year One. Martinmas Semester. November.**

Louis knows that getting a headstart on his observation hours is a good idea. Enough of the second and third years told him at the early term mixers that it would serve him well, and so he took them up on their advice. But between the reading hours and study group sessions, the endless writing up of his notes and the constant memorization, he doesn’t have a lot of time. Still, he drags himself out to Dundee’s Ninewells hospital twice a week on the bus - thirty-five minutes each way - just so he can observe bedside visits for a few hours and start endearing himself to the nurses.

November in their part of Scotland has been mild this year, but the towns have decked themselves out with decorations and lights, preparing for the Christmas spirit. The hospital has little decorations everywhere - lots of Peace on Earth signs and Joy to the World banners, with little snowflakes hanging from the florescent lights in the hallways and fake candles on some of the nurses’ station counters.

Accompanying Dr. Gannaway on his rounds isn’t the easiest of assignments, but Louis isn’t one to complain. He expects Louis to remember anything that was covered in one of their previous rounds and he often quizzes him, which Louis has been assured means that Dr. Gannaway likes him, and is going out of his way to teach him.

“And prescribed treatment was?”

“Fentanyl, Plavix, and a beta blocker.”

“Why the beta blocker?”

Dr. Gannaway is scribbling away on a chart, not even looking at Louis as he fires questions at him one after another. They’re nearing the end of rounds for the afternoon, and Louis has been frantically scribbling notes in his little notepad during each room visit, jotting down as much information as possible so that he can later do research on prescribed therapies and memorize medications. It’s a bit more hands on than most freshers in the medical school would be taking on, but Dr. Gannaway’s taken a shine to Louis so he’s been giving him a bit more of an experience than normal.

“To slow the heart rate since the patient presented with history of high blood pressure.”

“Yes. Good. Alright, our next patient… two days post-op for a valve replacement. Room 223.”

Dutifully, Louis follows Dr. Gannaway and his resident, hastily writing down notes as the doctor reads aloud from the chart, dressed in a buttoned shirt and tie, his hospital badge hanging from a lanyard around his neck. One of the tips from the third year medical student he’s befriended had been to always dress smartly for Dr. Gannaway. So twice a week he smarts himself up.

Room 223 is a double, the kind with a partition down the middle, but it isn’t pulled out. It’s pretty dark inside, the blinds closed and only the bedside lamps on, with two patients both laying quietly in their beds. There’s nothing particularly special about the room, except for the fact that the Prince of Wales is sitting in a chair between the beds, reading softly from a copy of Keats’ Endymion.

“Harry?”

He looks up, surprised, taking in Louis standing with Dr. Gannaway and his resident. He looks his usual ridiculous self, with a headscarf and about twelve rings on his fingers. The boots he’s chosen are so worn at the tip his toes are practically visible, and his skinny jeans seem to be more holes than fabric.

“Louis.”

“What are you doing here?”

Dr. Gannaway begins to check on his patient, the one in the bed on the left, but Louis can’t take his attention off Harry, who marks his place in the poem and closes the book. He stands, turning quickly, and nearly going sprawling onto the floor if not for Louis putting an arm out to catch him. Honestly. You'd think the future fucking King had just a bit more grace.

“I’m um, reading.”

Louis barely suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes, I can see that.”

Harry blushes, the heat spreading over his cheeks and neck. It’s a delicious pink. Louis ushers him out of the way and toward the back wall of the room where they won’t bother the doctors surrounding the patient’s bed. Harry sort of slumps against the wall, one knee hiked up a bit.

“I um, I come here, once a week or so,” Harry whispers. Louis has to lean a bit closer just to hear him.

“To read to people?”

Shrugging, Harry pulls at the sleeve of his henley, scratching at the wrist. He looks unsure, like he’s worried Louis might take the piss out of him.

“Or to just, talk, really.”

“With random patients?”

“Um, yeah. I just sort of show up and the nurses tell me which floors or rooms to visit? It… I mean, I know you think it’s stupid, but it makes some people feel better?”

Despite his personal feelings, that actually makes a lot of sense to Louis. People always say that a positive attitude does wonders for patients, and he can see how visiting with a Prince might make patients feel a shit ton better.

“It’s not stupid,” he whispers, feeling like a total ass. “What do you talk about?”“Anything, really. Their lives. Problems. Their grandchildren,” he smiles. “Mostly grandchildren, if the patients are older. But sometimes I read, too. I’ve been reading Keats for my lit class.”

Harry gestures to the copy in his hands - the same one Eleanor’s been carrying around since they’re both in the class. Louis opens his mouth to reply, but before he can, Dr. Gannaway barks at him to come pay attention, so he pulls a silly face at Harry and moves a few steps to stand at the foot of the bed, notepad out once again.

During the report, he writes everything down furiously, trying to concentrate only on Dr. Gannaway and the patient, and not on Harry, who’s wandered back to the other patient and is perched on the side of his bed, talking in very low tones.

Dr. Gannaway spends maybe ten more minutes bedside, answering questions and explaining the next treatment steps to the patient. He gives instructions to his resident and discusses what the next few days should look like in terms of pain and care, then reads over the nurse chart at the foot of the bed.

Louis is still frantically writing when the visit is finished, and he follows Dr. Gannaway and the resident out with a quick nod to Harry. Back at the nurses station, Dr. Gannaway asks Louis to parrot back some information, and when he does so passably (only four corrections), he nods, satisfied, before turning to read over his notes on his next patient.

“Are you well acquainted with the Prince?”

When Louis realizes he’s being addressed he sputters for a moment, metaphorically windmilling. “Ah, we’re both in St. Salvador’s hall, sir. His room is across from mine.”

Both true facts.

Dr. Gannaway gives something that resembles a cross between a grimace and a pleased expression. “He comes every week to visit with patients. Spends at least an hour or two. Keeps it quiet - doesn’t want any press for it. Just comes and sits with them. Makes a real difference to some of them, lifts their spirits, feeling like royalty cares about them. Connects to them on a personal level.”

“Yes sir,” Louis murmurs.

“Now, Tomlinson. This next patient had heart bypass surgery yesterday. Can you tell me the three main causes for complications following such a procedure?”

Later, when Louis has finished his observation session, signed out, and spent the entire bus ride back to St. Andrews listening to Coldplay, he finds himself curled up on his bed doing some more reading for his medical history component of the fundamentals course. Zayn made him a hot chocolate and gave him an energy bar to lift his admittedly low spirits - he feels uncomfortable in his own skin, for some reason - before leaving him for a “study session” down in Perrie’s room. Which is not even creative code for shagging.

It’s just past six-thirty, and he’s already spent more than an hour taking copious notes - sometimes he wonders what the point is, since his notes practically equal the written history in the book - trying to organize them in some coherent manner. The door to his room is propped open a bit, just because Zayn thinks he spends too much time alone and needs distractions every once in a while.

The knock at the door, though, is unexpected. Usually the lads just barge in if there’s any bit of the door open. Of course, usually the culprit is Niall, wanting food, but still.

“Come in.”

When the door opens, Louis finds that he isn’t terribly surprised to see that it’s Harry. He must just have just come in, for his cheeks are terribly red and he looks cold, though he’s shed his coat. He stands in the doorway, propped against one side, his hand stuck deep into his pocket, though Louis isn’t sure how it’s possible, since his jeans are so tight. An optical illusion, most likely.

“Hi.”

“Um, hi.”

They look at each other for a long moment, till the silence starts to feel uncomfortable.

“Zayn isn’t here,” Louis offers. “He went down to study with Perrie.”

Harry rolls his eyes, “as if they’re actually studying.”

“Right?” Louis can appreciate anybody making fun of Zayn for his very obvious and totally adorable adoration of Perrie. Especially since it dominates his life much of the time, seeing as they’re roommates.

“They took a table with me at the library last week and played footsie the whole time before disappearing into the stacks.” Harry wrinkles his nose, as if such a thought is unsanitary, and that makes Louis laugh, genuinely. He’s never understood the need to shag in the library. Of course, he’s always been a giant nerd, and the library is a hallowed place for studying.

“Imagine what it’s like having to live with him. I’m pretty sure they were trying something last night after we all went to bed.”

Harry looks completely horrified. “No, really?”

“Yeah, mate. Don’t think it really worked, though, pretty sure Zayn passed out too quickly.”

Harry snorts, hitting one toe on the floor. Another moment passes.

“I uh, I was actually hoping to talk to you.”

Louis swallows, feeling nervous all of a sudden. He shuts his history book and closes his notebook, putting it aside. “Sure. Come on in.”

He gestures to Zayn’s bed, and Harry eases himself onto it, sitting across from Louis. Pulling his knees up and wrapping his study/cuddle quilt a little bit more snugly around himself, Louis waits patiently.

“I ah, I didn’t realize that I would run into you today at Ninewells. Only I thought you usually do your observation rotations on Monday and Wednesday.”

That’s true. Louis doesn’t know how to feel that Harry obviously knows part of his evening schedule. “I do. But I couldn’t make it on Thursday because of the re-scheduled assistant group so my supervising doctor told me I could come in this afternoon.”

“Dr. Gannaway?” Harry confirms, and Louis nods. Playing with the seam of his jeans, Harry looks endlessly young. “I’ve met him a few times. I usually go on Saturdays and he tends to do his weekend follow up rounds then. He seems pretty intense.”

“Yeah he is. But I learn a lot.”

“I bet… I uh, I know this is probably… I just wanted to ask you if you could like, not mention that you saw me? Only I know you’re not supportive of my role, or whatever, but I just. I just thought I’d ask.”

“I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

If he sounds a bit offended, it’s because he sort of is. Regardless of how he feels about Harry's position as royalty, he signed the fucking privacy waver and he isn't about to go back on his word. He has literally no interest in perpetuating discussion about royalty in any kind of public forum 

"No I don't mean to the papers or anything. I know you'd never do that. I mean, like to the lads or whatever. In a casual way."

Louis is silent for a moment, watching the way harry bites his thumbnail. It's an unknowing sort of thing that someone does.

"I won't say anything. Why don't you want them to know?"

The radiator whines, making a bit of a hiss, but that doesn't do much to break the tension that's seemed to settle. It's not an antagonistic tension, Louis would say. Just, the air seems thick. Like he's wading through it each time Harry speaks.

"It's not that I like, I don't want them to know. Liam knows I go, kind of, but it's just. It's not something I really tell other people?"

Against his better judgement, Louis finds himself curious. "How long have you been doing this? Going to hospitals?"

"Um, like my whole life, really. My mum used to take me with her when I was really little."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Even when I was like too young. She had a friend who worked at St. Mary’s Hospital and they were quiet about it so she'd just go and bring me and my sister with. I think it was like, a nice way for her to escape from everything. Like the press and stuff with my dad and all that. It was just something she could do for herself. But then it became a thing and I kept up with it at Eton. And here, now."

That makes Louis pause. He feels, abruptly, like he's misjudged Harry. Like, obviously he's not wrong about royalty being pointless. But it's clear that Harry isn't an all around terrible guy.

"What do you talk about with them?"

"Mostly I listen, really. Or like I said. Grandchildren, life problems. Talking about their worries- I think it just makes both of us feel better. They feel like a Prince cares about them and I learn about what's important to them."

Louis doesn't know what to say to that, so for once in his life he doesn't say anything. God, his mother would be proud. A moment later his stomach rumbles, breaking through the silence.

He grimaces rubbing his belly like an expectant mother. "Did you just get back then, or did you have dinner in town?"

"I got back to campus about six but went for a bit of a walk."

Louis hasn't an idea why anyone would voluntarily be outside in this weather but he doesn't  comment.

"I'm going to head down and grab a bite before they close. Want to join?"

Harry looks at him for a moment, as if evaluating his intentions. It makes Louis feel embarrassed and uncertain, so he's relieved when Harry simply nods.

"Sure."

Driven only by his hunger. Louis unwinds himself from his warm cocoon and slips his feet into the moccasins that his mother sent him earlier in the week when he complained about the floors being freezing in the morning. Together, he and Harry make their way down to the dining hall, where they have a pleasant and amiable dinner.

 

 

**Buckingham Palace, Present Day**

"And that's when you knew?" Tilly asks excitedly.

Louis smiles indulgently. “That’s when I started to know. It still took a little bit before I really knew I was in love.”

Cesily looks up at him, green eyes enormous as she blinks. “Is that why we go to hospitals sometimes and visit with sick people?”

It makes his heart flutter, to hear Cesily ask. Hospital bedside visits are one of many traditions that the twins take part in, and have since they were little. Oftentimes they visit while Louis is on shift and he can spend a little time with them in a quiet hallway, cuddling on a gurney and whispering secrets. It’s hard for Harry to do it anymore, but Louis still takes the girls sometimes. They love “visiting hours” as they call it, meeting people and making them smile. When they were just toddlers, Louis used to dress them up in matching animal costumes for those outings - it was worth it for how adorable they looked and how happy it made people to see them.

“That’s where it started for me, yeah. And it’s a tradition that was very important to your Papa so he wanted to continue it with you. He used to do it with Grandnana Anne and Auntie Gemma so he wanted the two of you to do it with us.”

Cesily nods, as if that makes sense to her. “Okay tell the rest of the story.”

Always demanding, his Cesily. She’s the more dominant twin, always the one leading their fearless expeditions and determined to stir the most mischief. Sometimes Louis wonders if she ought to have been born first - if her comfort level would be higher, when the time comes. But then he reminds himself that Tilly will grow into her role as heir apparent. That she’ll have Harry and Anne and her sister (and Louis) by her side to help.

Okay, I’m getting there, hang on. But when I’m done, you need to go right to sleep, okay? No arguing or Daddy will be late for the party.

They both nod solemnly, as if it’s a promise they both intend to keep. Louis absolutely knows better.

“Okay, so after that day at the hospital, I started to really become friends with Papa...”

 

 

**Year One. Martinmas Semester. December.**

By the beginning of December, Louis was really starting to feel the stress of finals approaching. He was inundated with work for his fundamentals course, and honestly overwhelmed by the sheer amount of reviewing that his study group was undertaking. He had obviously known that the medical school would be an enormous amount of work, and he’d felt truly prepared for the undertaking. He just hadn’t anticipated how truly exhausted he would be by the first semester.

Still, if he’s being honest, he absolutely loves it. Even the boring parts of Fundamentals 1 show the promise of what the future will hold. Louis loves the anatomy lessons, the exploration of the body’s systems. Even when he’s slogging his way through the giant texts and his fingers ache from writing notes, he feels as if he’s set on the right path.

At the start of the month, Louis is knee deep in review notes, but Zayn and Niall convince him to take Saturday night off and loosen up a little. So that’s how he finds himself at Zizzi, filling up a table with Niall, Zayn, Perrie, Eleanor, and Harry.

His friendship with Harry has taken a turn over the past few weeks. After their run in at the hospital and subsequent dinner, Louis has found himself spending more and more time around the Prince. At first, he was simply a bit nicer while they were in the company of others; a change from the days of flat out ignoring him and pretending he didn’t exist. But then, it turned into the two of them spending a bit more time together, one-on-one.

They discovered that they have a lunch period that matches up on Tuesday and Thursday - days when Louis previously ate by himself or grabbed a takeaway sandwich from the cart and hold himself up in a tiny corner of the library while he passed the hour reviewing notes. Now, they meet up for a decently leisurely lunch and Louis finds himself enjoying their meandering conversations, which range from talking about their classes to classical rock, to their favorite gay porn videos.

It’s been...enjoyable, Louis has to admit. Harry has a way of reeling a person in and making them feel special. His attention is like a drug - Louis always wants more - and there’s an intensity to his gaze that Louis can’t believe he didn’t notice before.

And the thing is. Harry’s smart. He’s smart and he’s funny and he cares a lot about people. His stories do take eons, yes, but Louis has found that if he sticks it out, it’s usually worth it.

“God, I’m stuffed.”

Louis doesn’t think he’s ever heard that phrase from Niall before, but the six of them did order five pizza’s and a boatload of appetizers, and most of the food is now gone. He feels full to the brim himself, but it doesn’t stop him from sipping at the last of his soda, then swiping Eleanor’s as well. He feels hazy and happy and warm, tucked in between El and Niall. Across from him, Harry nibbles at the last of his pizza and wipes his mouth with a napkin. Louis catches himself following the movement with his eyes and shakes his head to clear the direction his thoughts are taking.

“Honestly, Niall, I’m surprised your stomach hasn’t yet exploded from overuse.”

Niall just grins at El, still chewing, and she wrinkles her nose in disgust. Across the table, Harry smiles at Louis, the green in his eyes catching the light from the overhead lamp.

“How are you feeling?” His voice is low enough not to attract attention from the rest of the table, and Louis shrugs in response, settling back further in his chair.

“Good. Relaxed.”

Harry makes a clucking sound that makes him sound like a sympathetic mother. He’s sans his headscarf today, and runs a hand through the curls, making them even more of a birds nest. Louis has noticed that they get more unruly as the day goes on. It’s endearing.

“You’ve been killing yourself studying.”

“I know. But I have so much to review for the final. Plus there’s still new material.”

Louis honestly tries to keep his complaining to a minimum. The rest of the group all have difficult classes and terrible upcoming finals, but Louis will always be a little bit of a medical supremacist. Plus they at least have three or so different classes that they can divide their attention on. Louis is stuck in Fundamentals 1, which is slowly frying his brain.

“Lou, you can’t literally be worried about finals? You study more than literally any other person I know.”

Harry’s praise makes Louis feel warm inside, and not for the first time he asks himself what the fuck he’s doing, allowing himself to have a crush on the Prince. Harry is, quite actually, the most unattainable person Louis could ever encounter. He’d do better to start an affair with one of his married professors - one of his heterosexual married professors, even - than to develop real feelings for Harry Styles (as he’s taken to calling him, like the other lads on their floor).

“That’s sweet, Styles, but some of us are enrolled in difficult classes. It can’t be all talking about da Vinci and watercolors.”

Zayn’s too engrossed in a conversation with Perrie to hear him, but Harry rolls his eyes so the joke doesn’t totally land flat. He and Zayn are in the same art history class together, and now that Louis has let up the unofficial (it was definitely official, okay, written on the chalkboard in the secret language he and Zayn share) ban on Harry’s presence in the room, they’ve taken to studying together, Harry’s lanky frame spread out on Zayn’s bed and Zayn huddled over his desk. Which is another way that Louis has been spending time with Harry. And that’s not hard at all, to watch Harry strewn across a bed, head propped on one arm as his eyes follow the text in the book.

“Are we all done here?” The waitress appears, bearing a new coke for Louis, which El snatches up in retaliation.

“Sadly, yes. I can’t eat another bite. You’ve outdone me, Marta.”

Niall’s incessant flirting with their waitress would be appalling were it not for her obvious soft spot for him. She slipped them an extra order of breadsticks and is all dazzling smiles for their resident irishman.

“Can I actually get a Ravioli Di Capra and a King Prawn Linguini to go, please?” She nods at Harry and leaves to put in the order. Harry looks at Louis’ scandalized look (the thought of more food is so unappealing he might literally be sick) and shrugs.

“Ben and Cal love this place,” he explains, sheepishly.

And that’s another thing that Louis has picked up over the past month or so. Harry is genuinely friends with his security team - will not, in fact, ever refer to them as “security” or “bodyguards”. He calls them by name, always, and he’s constantly ordering extra food or picking up a second bag of chips to toss to them when they get back to the dorm. Sometimes, on occasion, they’ll even play a game of Fifa when the lads are having a session, or they’ll point out helpful tips to Harry - things they’ve heard through their ninja grapevine - like it’s best to avoid the potato salad on a given day, or when they should head down to dinner for the best cut of meat. Weird things, lots of the time.

After taking their cursory glance around the restaurant, Ben and Cal - who are on duty for the night - went out to sit in the SUV, waiting for them all to be done.

“How long have they been with you?”

Louis is honestly curious. Most of Harry’s security team dote on him in their own way. They’re fiercely protective - and not just in a ‘protect the body’ sort of way. Case in point, they all still despise Louis and give him the cold shoulder at every opportunity. Just the day before, Paul told him that if there was an incident, he would absolutely toss Louis into harm’s way to protect himself. Rude.

“A while, most of them. Or at least with the family. Paul used to be with my mum, when he first came up through the service. Like, before she got married. So I’ve always known him. He’s sort of like an uncle - he used to bring me Chocolate Oranges. And then when I went to Eton he wanted a change so he went with me. Ben came right around that time too. Cal was on my mother’s service for a while but his daughter actually just started secondary in Edinburgh so if he’s here he can be a bit closer to her. He’s only on during the week - dunno if you’ve noticed - and his wife comes up on the weekends. And they see Haley - that’s his daughter - pretty often since it’s only an hour. But that’s sort of all that’ve been with me personally.”

“More of your mother’s guard?”

“No, Gemma, mostly. She just graduated in May, right? James had been with her for four years - his wife and son moved up here so they could like, be a family - so then he just stayed on for me so they wouldn’t have to move. Caroline used to be with Gemma as well, but she wanted to stay here a bit longer so she stayed too. She’s got a boyfriend in town. And Julian, he’s pretty much new. But he’s great, so.”

 It blows Louis’ mind to hear that some of the team have family in the area. He honestly hadn’t imagined that James went home to a small son or that Cal has a teenage daughter in Edinburgh. He’d sort of thought of them as mindless killing machines. Minus the killing, really.

“It’s good that you get along with them. Suppose they love you for always being accommodating.”

Harry is endlessly accommodating for his security team. He acquiesces to every request they make, and gives them as much advance as he can for any time he’ll be heading out.

“I mean, it’s not that there’s like, actual danger. Like, there’s hardly ever credible threats to my life, but if there are, they’re the ones who put themselves on the line. Which how can I ever truly appreciate that enough? So I just try to be good to them.”

Louis is hopelessly fond, god damnit.

It takes ten more minutes for them to wrap up the splitting of the bill and for Harry’s extra dinners to be ready, but eventually they all bundle up and brave the cold weather. The pizzeria is just a few blocks from campus but the cold hits immediately, burning through his bones like it’s liquid ice.

“Bollocks it’s freezing. Why’s it so bloody cold up here all the time?”

“It’s just as cold in Ireland, Niall.”

But then Niall’s face gets excited and he looks at the SUV with the security team, and then at Harry, and wiggles his eyebrows. Harry looks torn, for a moment, before giving in and grinning, opening the car door and putting on his most angelic face. He emerges a moment later, triumph written on his face.

“Everyone in!”

The six of them dive toward the open door, and there’s a good deal of laughing, grumbling and errant elbows as they all pile in. Somehow, Louis ends up in the very back, shoved against the window with El tucked against him, and Harry spread across their laps.

“Hiii.” He grins up at Louis, head pressed against the glass. It’s intensely uncomfortable so Louis hauls him up a bit more until he’s properly sitting in his lap. After the barest hesitation, Harry wraps an arm around Louis neck and settles against him.

He smells like cedar and some subtly spicy cologne, and when he ducks his head, his curls tickle Louis’ nose. In the front of the car, Ben is complaining about becoming a university bus, even as he’s practically inhaling the smell of his ravioli. Perrie says something that makes all of them collapse into peals of laughter, and Louis holds Harry just a bit tighter against him.

It feels natural, is what he thinks.

 

 

**Buckingham Palace, Present Day**

“That’s when I really started to fall in love with your Papa. I realized what a wonderful person he was and I sort of wanted to be around him as much as possible.”

That makes Tilly smile, and she slowly sinks down into the bed so she can lay her head on her pillow while she listens, assured that there is indeed a love story between her fathers. Cesily still looks a bit unimpressed, even as she leans back against Louis’ chest and pokes her hand around his face.

“Okay, keep going! Tell us about how you kissed?”

“How we kissed? I thought you didn’t like our icky kissing.” He smacks kisses all over her face until she’s shrieking and shoving him away. The girls have lately gotten to the point where they start chanting rhymes every time their fathers kiss, making a giant scene about it. It always makes Harry grin at them and start a kissing fest, trying to attack them with loud smooches.

“Stop it, Daddy! Tell us, tell us!”

He laughs, nodding and settling Cesily. “Okay, okay. When we kissed. Let’s see. It was during finals that year. In December, right before Christmas.”

 

 

**Year One. Martinmas Semester. December**

Louis has been buried in books for the last three weeks straight. Whether it’s the library or his room, he’s rarely been without his texts, and is usually accompanied by his typed notes, handwritten notebooks, and review guides. His eyeballs hurt from the endless reviewing, but the end is absolutely in sight. He has his final in the morning - the very last day of the finals period, of course, thank you medical school - a comprehensive examination of the entire semester. Anatomy, body systems, medical history. It’ll take hours. God.

Tucked into his favorite corner of the library, away from any of the other students trying to cram for late finals, he’s been re-reading through all of his notes, hoping to soak up as much memorization as possible. He’s dressed in his most comfortable sweats - an old Doncaster Rovers hoodie and his softest trackies - and needing a break from the hard wooden chair at his study carroll, he’s moved to the floor between the nearest stacks. It’s just better for his back.

He’s just finished reading through his Chapter 8 anatomy notes when there’s a scuffle to his left and he raises his head sharply, ready to tear a limb off anyone who thinks about interrupting his peaceful studying environment.

But it’s only Harry, who’s grinning and holding a white bag from the little sandwich shop, as well as a tiny red and green present bag.

“Don’t shoot - I come bearing food.”

He hands over the bag, which Louis opens greedily to discover his favorite sandwich (and a ham and cheese for Harry as well) a cup of chicken noodle soup, a bag of chips, and two bottles of water. It smells heavenly and he groans in satisfaction.

“You’re an angel. Thank you.”

Harry shrugs, taking the sandwich Louis offers and sliding down the bookshelf so he can sit across, their bent knees touching. The first bite of his sandwich makes his stomach rumble - he realizes it’s nearly four and he hasn’t eaten since breakfast.

“Finished with your finals?”

“Yep. Done with econ as of an hour and a half ago.”

Harry’s grin is one of pure relief. His econ class has been the bane of his existence, taken only because his sister was an economics major and both she and his mother (The Queen) insisted Harry at least try his hand. He’s truly terrible at it, despite numerous tutoring sessions and endless studying with Niall, and Louis thinks their entire floor (the security team included) is relieved that Harry is done with the class.

“Excellent. And you said you feel good about lit and art history, so you’re set.”

He thinks his voice sounds a bit longing, and Harry picks up on it.

“Cheer up, you’re almost done. This time tomorrow you’ll be totally finished with Martinmas Semester of your fresher year.”

Louis takes another giant bite of his sandwich, chewing as quickly as possible. It’s the grilled chicken sandwich and it tastes better than anything he’s been subsiding on for the past few days. He opens the chips and holds the bag to Harry.

“One down, five to go, I guess.”

Harry nods slowly, like he’s just working out the fact that Louis won’t be at St. Andrews for a fourth year. The medical program is divided into two phases - three years at St. Andrews, three years of clinical at a sister university hospital. Louis’ mum wants him to apply for a spot in Manchester, but there’s a few programs in London he thinks might be better for the long term.

“It’ll be weird, not having you here fourth year.”

“Who knows if we’ll all even be friends by then.”

Snorting, Harry kicks him half-heartedly. “Please. As if Niall could part with any of us.”

They grin at each other as they continue to eat, talking about nonsensical things and just taking a few minutes to relax. It’s been like this for weeks now, between the two of them. Always seated next to each other at dinner, constantly snuggling up in Louis’ bed when they study. The other lads tease them a bit, call them the married couple, but that just makes Harry blush and hold Louis tighter, and Louis finds that he doesn’t mind at all. Except that he should, because even if Harry is gay, he’s still a fucking Prince.

“Remind me again why you have to leave tonight? Tomorrow night’s gonna be sick. We’re going to the pub and we’re going to get blackout drunk. Niall thinks he’s going to take on El again.”

Smiling, Harry leans his head back, feet outstretched so they rest between Louis’ spread legs.

“I can’t stay. It’s my mother’s annual holiday party and I literally have to be there. Official family picture and all. We’re having family dinner tonight, too. She’ll skin me if I miss it.”

“Really, Harold,” Louis deadpans. “Your mother will skin you? Doesn’t she have Dumb and Dumber for that?”Louis is still a bit miffed about the extreme pleasure that Ben and James took in demonstrating how they would dismantle an attacker, using him as the body. Nearly broke his neck, the brutes. Maybe he shouldn’t have antagonized them by calling them overgrown babies with guns.

“You know I’ve got about five names, and none of them are Harold. And yes, she’d absolutely have someone else do the dirty work, but she’d totally wear the skin. She’s sinister like that. Used to tell me she’d lock me in the Tower of London if I didn’t eat my vegetables.”

Louis nearly snorts soup up his nose he starts laughing so suddenly. “Of course she did,” he crows when he’s safely swallowed. “She’d have to have an iron will to keep you in line. And I’m sorry, I’ve read your wikipedia bio but I’ve forgotten all your five names.”

“Well, really only four. Henry, obviously. My Grandfather wanted me Henry - it was his second name and he regretted not taking it at his coronation. And then Charles, for my paternal Grandfather. Philip for my father’s brother who had passed, and George, which we publicly acknowledge as after Saint George of George and the dragon.”

“And privately?” Louis can tell from the beginning blush Harry’s sporting that he’s going to love the story.

“Weeell. Gemma was like, three, when I was born, and she was proper obsessed with those Curious George books-”

“You’re named after Curious George?” Louis practically yells, taking great delight at Harry’s deep pout.

“She was _really_ insistent that she be allowed to pick a name, okay?”

“Oh my god, you’re named after a monkey. Is that why you’re constantly eating bananas?”

“It’s my fourth name, not my first, and bananas are really good for you, Lewis.”

Louis can only smile at him, helplessly fond. Curious George. It’s the greatest thing that he’s ever heard. Come to think of it, he remembers a Curious George book tucked onto Harry’s bookshelf. Who knew Harry Styles could be so endearing? Louis wonders if he’ll ever have the opportunity to meet Princess Gemma, to thank her for her wordsmithing contribution to the world.

“You must be excited to see the girls. And your mum.”

Everyone who lives on their floor knows that Louis is absolutely devoted to his mother, five sisters, and his baby brother Ernie. He has about a million pictures of them up in the room, and he skypes with them once a week. Lottie and Fizzy also blow up his phone with texts, mostly demanding selfies with “Prince Harry” Even the twins are in love with him. Phoebe practically passed out when Harry made a guest appearance on a family skype session.

“I am, yeah. I mean, they’ll probably drive me crazy within twenty-four hours, but yeah. I’m excited to see them. The little twins are growing so fast - already starting to crawl, mum says.”

“I’ll skype you when we’re in Klosters to say hi to them.”

“If you haven’t broken your neck trying to ski.”

Harry maintains that he’s a decently competent skier - a requirement in his family, practically - but Louis sees the way he can barely keep upright on his own two feet. So forgive him if he’s a little bit skeptical. Still, the royal family spends time every winter break at Klosters, taking on the slopes, and at nineteen, Harry hasn’t killed himself yet.

“You just watch. Maybe I’ll put a GoPro on and ski down so you can see.”

“You do that, Styles.”

Harry glances at his watch and frowns. He’s scheduled to take a helicopter back to London, and had mentioned something about the pilot not wanting to leave after dark if at all possible.

“Well then, I suppose this is goodbye until next year. Excepting skype, of course. You don’t want to miss the chopper.”

“Almost. Here,” he hands over the small gift bag and Louis pulls a face.

“Honestly, Haz, I thought we all agreed that the alcohol we exchanged two weeks ago was good enough for presents-”

“Shut up, I just saw this and I thought it should belong to you. You didn’t have to get me anything. Seriously.”

Louis glares at him, but opens the bag to reveal a little white jewelry box. Taking off the lid, his breath catches as he sees what’s inside. Nestled amongst the white cotton is a tiny silver heart, perfectly anatomical. About the size of Louis’ thumbnail, it’s attached to a delicate silver chain. The detail is beautiful - Louis can see the aorta and the ventricles, along with the veins and atriums. It’s gorgeous, really, and he pulls it out by the necklace clasp to see that it would hit him right in the middle of his sternum. Next to his heart.

"It’s… it’s lovely, Haz. I can’t. It’s lovely.”

And it is lovely. The way that the gleaming silver catches the light. The delicacy of it. The way that Harry just gave him a fucking necklace. It’s lovely.

“I saw it in a shop and I thought it was perfect. I know you don’t really wear necklaces-”

“I’ll wear this one.” He immediately undoes the clasp and the chain around his neck, his fingers fumbling a few times before it catches again. For something so tiny and light it feels steady against his skin. Louis tries not to look too deeply into that, but instead looks up at Harry, whose gaze has gone dark and intense.

“Thank you.” He rises to his knees and leans forward, pulling Harry into a hug. They grasp each other tightly, holding on for probably longer than necessary. When he finally pulls back, his arms feel empty.

“I’d better get going. Merry Christmas and all that.”

“Yeah, you too, Haz. Have fun with your family.”

They both stand, clearly lingering, before Harry nods and turns around to make his way out of the stacks. He hasn’t gone five steps before Louis calls for him, almost unaware that he’s done so. He watches as Harry stops and turns, looking at Louis questioningly.

Making the decision before he’s even really conscious of it, Louis crosses the space between them and cups Harry’s face in his hands. Slowly – so, so slowly – he breaches the space between them until their lips are hovering, barely a breath apart. For one long moment they stand on the precipice, before Louis takes the leap and finally joins their lips.

Harry’s lips are soft. Softer than he would have imagined, considering he bites them constantly. The touch between them is light, uncertain, just a slight pressure of their heads together. Until Louis feels Harry sigh and arms wrap around his neck. Emboldened, he breaks the connection and goes in again, kissing Harry with more pressure and intent.  

From that moment it’s like time stops to Louis as he let’s himself fall into the kiss, eyes closed and heart stampeding. He brushes his lips against Harry’s, over and over again, changing the pace and the pressure and teasing them both, until Harry makes a high whine and sucks on Louis’ bottom lip, changing both the intensity and depth of the kiss. His tongue is soft and insistent, sliding against Louis’ with purpose, trying to impart some statement that Louis will decipher later.

For long moments they kiss, mouths sliding and tongues dueling, until the moment softens, lightens, and their connection relaxes so that Louis can peck Harry on the lips one last time and pull back.

“Merry Christmas, Your Highness.”

Harry’s grin is blindingly bright as he takes a step back, squeezing Louis’ hand as he puts more distance between them.

“Merry Christmas, Dr. Tomlinson.”

With one last look, Harry turns and leaves Louis standing in the stacks, lips swollen and kiss-bruised, a giant final to finish preparing for, and a heart around his neck.

 

 

**Buckingham Palace, Present Day**

“I didn’t know that’s where your necklace comes from!” Cesily tries to worm her way into his collar but Louis eases her hand.

“It’s there, darling. It’s always there.” Literally every moment that Louis is awake and not in the shower, that necklace is on his neck. Three times in twenty years they’ve had to replace the chain, but the heart is as lovely as was the day Harry presented it to him, nestled in the stacks at the University of St. Andrews library.

“When did Papa get the heart on his arm?” Tilly questions, referencing Harry’s matching anatomical heart tattoo.

“Not for a long time yet, actually.” Not for nearly ten years, actually. Not until Louis had finally - finally! - declared his specialty neonatal-cardiothoracics. Harry had complained that Louis had the heart necklace and spent his days fixing hearts, but that nobody had Louis’ heart. So Harry got the giant tattoo and a copy of Louis’ cardiogram.

“So and Papa were in love, then?”

“We were almost in love. We spent that break apart. Papa spent his time with Grandnana Anne and Auntie Gemma and Grandfather Robin, and I was at home in Doncaster with Granny Tomlinson and all your Aunties.”

“And Uncle Ernie,” Tilly reminds him.

“Yes. And Uncle Ernie.”

He glances at his watch, realizing he’s essentially already late. Nobody’s yet come to fetch him since the entire staff knows that bedtime with the girls is sacred, but he doesn’t want to ruin anything. Especially since so many of their dearest friends will be there, come to celebrate their tenth wedding anniversary.

“So. Your Papa and I kissed and then he went back to London and I stayed to finish my final. But then after that I went home for break, and I spent the entire time missing your Papa.”

 

  

**Year One. Candlemas Semester. January.**

Louis aced his first semester at university. Absolutely aced it. The grades came through just before New Year, and he was well pleased with the three sections of his fundamentals course. There’s pride in the grade, of course, but he’s mostly happy that it shows his study method works. His mum was thrilled too, and Dan made a giant dinner to celebrate, buying a bottle of cheap champagne that they could all split. It had been a nice family night, full of smiles and happiness and pride.

Of course, grades honestly hadn’t been his top priority during the break. As soon as he took his final he let everything go, knowing there was nothing else he could do. He’d gone out with Niall and Zayn and El and drank himself silly, letting the stress work its way out of his body in the form of sweat while dancing. He’d texted Harry to tell him that he was finally free, and received a message in response containing a picture of Harry, giant grin on his face with a thumbs up.

And from then, they just hadn’t stopped texting. It seemed that during the days leading up to Christmas, and New Year’s and the weeks after, he and Harry hadn’t gone more than a few hours without texting during their waking hours. The texts had covered all subjects, from advice on improving boxed mac and cheese to theoretical musings on Chekhov’s The Seagull (apparently snow makes Harry want to re-read the Russian classics) and any conceivable topic between the two. And, of course, they had spent hours talking on the phone. Louis’ never been one for long phone conversations, but Harry had called him on Christmas Eve to wish him Happy Birthday, and then Louis called him on the twenty-sixth to tell him about the hellish experience of taking his sisters shopping. And then it became something of a nightly thing. Or near nightly.

They talked for hours, about their dreams and hopes and everything else cliche. Louis fell asleep more nights than not to the sound of Harry’s low tones in his ear, wishing him sweet dreams, the deep timbre of his voice embedding itself in Louis’ brain. He’s learned how Harry feels about becoming King someday (fucking terrified, Lou) and what he cares about changing (homelessness makes me sick to my stomach) and how he struggles between presenting a good image of himself to the world and being genuine (I just want to make sure I’m never a negative influence on someone). Louis has shared why he wants to be a neonatal cardiothoracic surgeon (Daisy was born with a heart defect) and what it’s been like to grow up knowing his father took off (how can I know what kind of man I’ll be?) and how much more school he has ahead of him (I’m so scared I’ll fail out at some point).

But despite the constant talking and texting and skyping, there had been absolutely no mention of The Kiss, as Louis has taken to referring to it in his head. It played on a loop constantly during the first few weeks of break... He thought of it constantly, his lips aching to feel Harry’s again and other parts of him aching for something more. Something that might feel more permanent. Even at their most bare and emotionally honest on the phone, they hadn’t ever referred to the kiss.

At least, not until three days before they’re due to arrive back on campus for Candlemas Semester, when Louis had woken to a text at two in the morning:

**_PrinceOfStyle: I can’t stop thinking about kissing you again._ **

And that was when Louis officially lost it.

He’d had a near panic attack over that text. Not sure how to respond, not sure what to say, he had ignored it completely and broken off all contact. Three more texts of Harry’s went unanswered, as did a phone call the following evening.

And like, Louis knows he can’t run away from it forever, but he is like, batshit terrified of the situation. All he could focus on was Harry’s royal status. Status as a person who is so, so far out of Louis’ reach. He’s a poor lad from Doncaster, alright - he’s not titled or from money, or really anyone. And he can’t handle being just someone who Harry screws around with on the side, because Louis is kind of an emotional person sometimes, okay? He needs stability and love and to be able to rely on people.

And the worst part - the absolute worst part - is that he’s pretty fucking sure he’s in love with Harry. It took barely three months, and he’s fallen pretty deeply into it. So a casual relationship is totally out. He’s not that cool. But there doesn’t really seem to be another option because the thought of actually being with Harry - that’s just impossible.

The bus ride back to St. Andrews took forever, and he had nothing to distract him from his thoughts, so that was an extra measure of torture. But now he’s in his dorm room and he’s been there for almost two hours and Zayn has already gotten annoyed with him and gone down to bug Perrie.

This doesn’t bode well for the semester.

He needs to talk to Harry - what he’s going to say, he has no fucking idea. But they should talk. Or maybe Louis can transfer to a different university and move all his stuff out without running into Harry. That’s a better plan.

The door’s been left open only a bit so that Louis can’t see who passes by, but if the door across the hall opens he’ll be able to hear it. Liam had texted all of them to say he’s on a rugby retreat and won’t be back until quite late, so the only person who could be opening the door is Harry.

Unless he’s transferred universities and moved all his stuff without Louis knowing. He probably has an entire army of people who would help with that.

Fifteen minutes later, when Louis is as jumpy as a caffeine addict and has bitten all of his nails down so that they’re almost bleeding, he hears the scuff of boots and keys, and then the door across the hall opens. Louis waits approximately twenty seconds before rushing across the hall, shouldering his way into Harry’s room and slamming the door shut behind him and leaning against it.

Harry’s standing in front of his bed, coat still on, leather duffle bag hanging from his shoulder, phone in his hand. He looks up, startled, before his gaze settles into something more blank. He’s had his hair trimmed over the break - Louis knows that, obviously. Harry live-texted him the entire time. It looks the same as it did in the picture he sent as well.

For a long moment they stare at each other. Then Harry lets the duffle bag drop to the floor and its thump spurs Louis to words.

“Hi,” he bites out, still gripping the doorknob for dear life. He wonders if he looks as manic as he feels. If Harry’s going to reach for his panic button and summon the security team who will gladly take Louis out with their ninja moves.

“Hello,” Harry offers, his voice calm and collected.

Louis takes a deep breath, determined to have an adult conversation about their situation.

“I’m not royal,” is what he spits out instead. And probably he needs to work on his brain to mouth connection because he’s not doing so well today.

“I know that.” Harry looks confused. Louis can understand that - he’s a confusing person. So says every person he’s ever dated and his Grandmum. He hadn’t given much weight to the statements from his former flames, but maybe his Grandmum had a point.    

“I just. I mean, I can’t. I don’t know how - you’re a Prince.”

Harry nods, expression serious as he keeps eye contact. “I am.”

“You’re royalty, and I’m a nobody who doesn’t even like royalty, as like, an institution.”

“Not being royalty doesn’t make you a nobody,” Harry says forcefully. “And I know how you feel about it as an institution,” he adds, an afterthought.

“And like, the kiss? Of course it was amazing. Of course I want to do it again. But I can’t be casual right now. It’s not who I am, not when I care about people, and I care about you, is the thing, so I don’t-”

“Louis,” he interrupts, taking careful steps toward him as if Louis is a wild animal that will attack.. It’s fair, Louis admits to himself.

“It’s insane because I know I was awful to you and then did a complete about turn and I’m sorry, and this is too fast-”

“-Louis,” he tries again, reaching out and putting a hand on Louis’ shoulder.

“What?”

He can’t even meet Harry’s eyes, focusing instead on the windows behind his head. He’s sure, in his entire life, that he has never acted so ridiculously. God, he’s such an embarrassment to his mother. But Harry just moves his head until their eyes are locked, and all Louis can see is green, green, green.

“Shut up.”

And then before he can open his mouth to say anything else moronic, Harry leans in and they’re kissing again. It isn’t as sweet as their first kiss. Instead, Harry kisses him like he’s been dying to do so since the moment they parted - deep and full and hard. He holds Louis at the base of his neck with one hand and runs the other through his hair.

He kisses and kisses and kisses Louis till all Louis can think and feel and care about are their lips being connected. He kisses Louis till their lips are swollen and they’re gasping for air and the only thing that matters is the two of them.

When he finally pulls back, he places his hand on Louis’ cheek and strokes his thumb along the cheekbone, his green eyes dancing and his lips a slick red.

“I don’t care if you don’t have a title. I don’t care that you don’t care for royalty. I don’t care that you’re a smartass who doesn’t ever think before you open your mouth to speak.” He smiles, finally, leaning in to touch his nose to Louis’. His other hand slides down Louis’ neck, feeling the chain of the necklace and pulls until he can hold the heart, giant hand curled around the tiny charm. “I care about you, Louis. I care about you so much. I spent pretty much every moment of the break thinking about you.”

“Me too,” Louis manages to get out. There’s a golden feeling of happiness welling up in his stomach and it’s making him feel even more jittery, as the relief rushes through his veins. “I’m sorry I didn’t respond to your message.”

Harry laughs, kissing the tip of Louis’ nose and then his forehead. “It’s okay. I knew you were just freaking out.”

At Louis’ totally confused expression, Harry goes serious, stepping back so that they can look at each other properly.

“Louis, I know you. I liked you from pretty much the moment we met and you called me the Prince of Styles, and I disparied every single moment that you pretended to hate me-”

“-excuse you it was not pretend-”

“And I thought you were unbearably adorable in your button up and tie when we ran into each other at the hospital, so I was really relieved when you decided that we could be friends. And getting to know you since then has only shown me that you’re an amazing person, who always thinks of others before yourself and who’s incredibly neurotic.”

Louis scowls at the last part, before the wrinkles in his forehead disappear completely and his eyes widen, staring up at Harry.

“So what now?”

Harry sighs, running his hands up and down Louis’ arms, till Louis flips his palms up so they can link fingers. They both stare down at their intertwined hands, until Louis squeezes Harry’s hand.

“Now, I guess I would hope that we can be together.”

“Like, boyfriends?”

Harry smiles, leaning down for a quick kiss. “Boyfriends.”

The smile blooming on Louis’ face can’t be contained. But then again, he doesn’t try to contain it.

“And what about...everything else.”

Pulling a pensive face, Harry pretends to think, until Louis lightly steps on his foot. “We haven’t got all day, Styles. Your stories take long enough as it is.”

Louis takes deep, deep pride in the way joy spills across Harry’s entire face, lighting up his eyes and stretching his lips wide.

“Well, I guess I would say that we should just take things at our own pace. I mean, yeah, it gets more complicated as we get more serious, but that’s a bridge for later, hmm? Besides, you might change your tune if the opportunity to become Prince Louis comes up, right?”

Louis lets out a loud guffaw, smacking Harry in the stomach and reaching up to slip the jacket from his shoulders. It’s a long black pea coat - the kind only celebrities wear, and he rolls his eyes.

“I’m pretty sure I’m never going to be Prince Louis, but nice try.”

He tosses the coat onto Liam’s bed and wraps his arms around Harry’s neck, hoisting himself up so that Harry has no choice but to hold him up, wrapping his legs around his waist and kissing him. As Harry’s stepping back so he can sit on the bed, a thought occurs to Louis, and he pulls back abruptly to look at Harry with all seriousness.

“Does this mean the security team will stop being mean and making an example out of me?”

Harry sits down and leans back, his laughter ringing out in the quiet room. “Louis, the security team is never going to stop being mean to you.”

That mollifies Louis, and he resumes the embrace, arms wrapped around Harry’s head as he tries to press them closer together.

“I’m not going to change your name from Prince of Styles in my phone.”

Harry kisses his cheek, intertwining their hands again and smiling. “I would expect nothing less.”

As they commence into a nice long snog, Louis feels pretty proud of himself. Candlemas Semester hasn’t even started yet and he’s got himself a boyfriend.

It’s going to be a good semester. Probably, if this keeps up, it’s going to be a good life.

 

 

**Buckingham Palace, Present Day**

“Your Highness?”

Louis’s just finished the story, and looks up to see Mrs. Landcomb standing in the doorway, a smile on her face and a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She was Harry’s nanny when he and Gemma was little, and agreed to come help out when the twins were born. She functions more as a pseudo grandmother for them, and the girls love her to pieces, which makes both he and Harry feel better about not being able to spend every moment with their girls.  

“I suppose it’s time for me to head off, hmm?”

“Miss Henderson is waiting at the residence doors.”

She walks into the room and takes a seat in the rocking chair in the corner, picking up her knitting. On nights like tonight, when Harry and Louis are otherwise occupied, she’ll stay with the girls while they fall asleep, then move to her own room, which is just down the hall.

Tilly and Cesily are practically asleep, but they smile up at him blearily as he extricates himself. He scoops Cesily up and tucks her into her own bed, kissing her forehead and pulling the blankets up to her shoulders.

“Goodnight petal.”

“Night Daddy. Thanks for the story.”

“Anytime, darling.”

He takes his tux jacket from the foot of her bed and moves to Tilly, who’s pulled her covers up and looks on the cusp of being out like a light. He bends over to kiss her forehead as well and is about to stand up when her eyes open and she grabs his hand.

“Daddy. Do you like being a Prince now?”

Louis is struck speechless for a long moment. She’s asking the most complicated question of his life - one that he still struggles with every single day. It’s a battle he’s mentally waged for twenty years and not one he ever really overcame in many ways. But there’s a truth that he’s comfortable with, that he can openly admit.

“I love being married to a king and being the father of two princesses. That’s more than enough for me, sweetheart.”

Tilly smiles, assured, and closes her eyes. Louis brushes his hand over her forehead one more time, then stands up. He pats Freddie's head and kisses Mrs. Landomb’s cheek, thanking her for agreeing to stay up a little later than usual, promising her they’ll break into the leftover champagne at brunch in the morning. Then, with one last glance at the girls, lit by the soft glow of their nightlight, he leaves the nursery.

As he walks through the halls of the residence he pulls his jacket on, adjusting the shirt cuffs and smoothing down his pants. Ella is waiting for him as promised, and she smiles as he approaches.

“Girls all tucked in?”

“And tuckered out, hopefully. Maybe they’ll let us have a lie in tomorrow.”

Unlikely. They’ll wake up and make their way to the master bedroom to jump on them the moment their eyes open, probably at some god-awful hour. Louis looks forward to it every Sunday morning.

He and Ella make their way through the palace, out of the wing and across the red carpeted halls, down the staircase and toward the main ballroom. Ella briefs him on any last minute cancellations- nobody terribly important, thankfully- and mentions anyone who Louis should be sure to greet. There aren’t many, since everyone attending is a good friend of theirs - mostly friends and family.

“And Harry?”

“His Majesty finished just a few minutes ago with the Chinese Ambassador and is already inside.”

They reach the doors to the Ball Supper Room and Louis motions to the guards to wait a moment before opening the doors. He turns to Ella, puffing out his chest and standing up straight.

“Well, do I pass?”

Ella gives him a small smile, and opens her ipod cover to boot up her screen and enter her passcode. She changes it every two days because she gets upset when Louis beats her score on her vintage AngryBirds app.

“I left a present for you on the bed. It’s breakable, so when you’re finished tonight and head back to your room,” she lowers her voice leadingly, “don’t go throwing it off the bed.”

Louis rolls his eyes, but she’s absolutely right, so he doesn’t say anything except, “thanks, Ella. I’m sure we’ll love it.”

With a nod to the guards, the doors open silently, and Louis enters the Ball Supper Room, where they’re holding a cocktail hour before dinner in the Ballroom. It takes only the barest shake of his head for the head butler refrain from announcing him, but many of the guests notice him immediately and begin to say hello. Louis takes a few minutes to greet the well-wishers, waving to some of his longtime colleagues and friends, before making his way to the east side of the room. He greets his mum and the Queen Mother, kissing them both and making a moment of small talk before continuing on his way to find his husband.

Finally, after a dozen handshakes and congratulations, Louis catches sight of the group he’s looking for. Standing in a circle are Niall and Liam and their wives, Zayn and Perrie, and Eleanor and her husband.

And there, at the center of their little circle, standing in his tuxedo, tall and regal, is his husband.

His Majesty, King Henry IX.

Harry is as beautiful as he was the day Louis met him. He’s aged, of course - he doesn’t have the Peter Pan complex that he’s always teased Louis of having. There are small age lines around his eyes and his temples are starting to prematurely gray as well. It only makes him more handsome. His hair which has been written about and critiqued over the years, transitioning from fashion to fashion, still falls in curls close to his head.

Harry holds his hand to Louis, who crosses the circle to give him a kiss - soft and sweet and full of promise for the next ten, twenty, thirty years of their life together.

They don’t kiss in public often - a gay Prince was enough of a scandal, sure, but the royal family has traditionally been stoic in public - but these are their friends, their family, and Louis feels free to be himself within the walls of Buckingham Palace.

“Happy Anniversary Dr. Tomlinson,” Harry whispers in his ear, wrapping his arm around Louis’ shoulders and pulling him close. “Girls in bed?”

“Mmm. They wanted to hear the story of how we fell in love.”

Harry’s eyebrows raise a bit, and he smiles. “I’m sure you gave them a faithful retelling.”

“Your Majesty,” Louis laughs, turning into Harry’s embrace and looking up at him with mirth in his eyes. “I have no idea what other tale I would tell.”

Even after so many years, they still look at each other the same way, filled with love and trust. It takes Louis’ breath away, every single day, gives him the energy to take on his life roles - husband, father, doctor, prince. It’s what keeps him going. And Louis knows it’s the same for his husband. Harry who depends on him and his love to get through his days of meetings and endless appearances, who turns to Louis for guidance as he worries endlessly about raising their daughters in a healthy way, who has always been the strongest supporter of Louis’ career and absolutely certain that they could build their life together around both the monarchy and Louis’ job as a neonatal cardiothoracic surgeon. Harry, who loves Louis beyond all recognition.

That’s what the party’s all about, isn’t it? A celebration of their love. Their tenth wedding anniversary, their twentieth year together. It’s all a celebration.

And they do celebrate. They sip cocktails with their friends and family, catching up and reminiscing, and then they sit down to a lavish dinner prepared by one of London’s best up-and-coming chefs. They drink vintage champagne and then spend the night dancing, kicking off the start of another decade. At the end of the evening, there’s a fireworks display and fun with sparklers, and the entire affair is so delightful that Louis feels as if he’s walking on air.

By the time they return to their private apartments, it’s half-past two in the morning and they’re both giddy from champagne and drunk on the atmosphere. Louis presses Harry against the wall of their drawing room, kissing him soundly before taking his hand and hurrying into their bedroom, turning on the bedside lamp.

“What’s this?”

He looks to the bed where Harry’s taking in the large rectangular present, beautifully wrapped with silver paper and a silk bow.

“S’from Ella.”

Harry undos the bow and tears off the paper as Louis yanks at his tie, droopy after pulling at it all evening. He tosses his jacket onto the chair by the dresser and rounds the bed, taking in the simple black picture frame and white matting.

It’s a black and white photograph that’s been blown up a bit, and Louis’ breath catches as he stares at it, Harry’s hand a steady weight on the small of his back.

“Where did she-”

“There’s a note,” Harry says, reaching for the card enclosed. “Happy Anniversary. I contacted the staff at St. Andrews and was able to get hold of this. Enjoy. From Ella.”

“Wow,” Louis breathes, reaching out to run his fingers over the glass. He hasn’t ever seen this picture - has only the haziest memory of it being taken. He certainly hadn’t remembered that it existed for the past twenty years. “Have you seen this before?”

“No, never. But we asked that no pictures be published with me in them, that year, so I guess we wouldn’t have ever seen it.”

It was taken by the student photographer their first night at Sallies. Everyone had been crammed in Louis and Zayn’s room, and someone had wandered by with a camera, taking pictures for the alumni magazine. He’d asked them all to get together, and they’d bundled into a photo. Louis remembers the photo being taken, because he’d been stuck in the middle row, next to Harry, and he’d been absurdly annoyed when Harry had slung an arm about his neck and put on that wholesome grin.

“God, look at us. We were babies. Oh god, remember when Niall’s hair was blonde?”

“Louis, this is the first picture ever taken of us.”

He realizes Harry’s right. There have been thousands and thousands of pictures taken of them over the years - out and about in St. Andrews, during family vacations out of the country, taking walks in Manchester and at events in London. There was the wedding, and when their official picture was released, and the hundreds of thousands of photos since then, at royal appearances and with the girls. But this is the first one, ever.   

Very gently he takes the picture frame to lean it against their dresser. They’ll have to do something nice for Ella - she deserves a vacation, really.

“Come on, your majesty. Let’s go to bed.”

Harry raises his eyebrows in mock surprise, slipping the jacket from his own shoulders and loosening his tie. “An invitation from a Prince? I guess I can’t turn that down.”

Pressing their lips together, Louis sucks hard and pushes Harry onto the bed. “Don’t be silly, Styles. I’m just a doctor. Now hurry up, the girls will be awake in five hours and I have serious plans for you before we go to sleep.”

The sound of their laughter rings out through their rooms, but there’s nobody else around to hear it, as they collapse their way into bed and make the most of their anniversary night. Even as they undress, Louis finds a smile on his face, thinking of the bedtime story he told to the girls. He’d never have guessed that when he enrolled at St. Andrews he’d be meeting the love of his life, let alone that he’d be a married to a king and royalty himself, with twin daughters who are both crowned Princess.  

It’s been a good twenty years.

He’s looking forward to twenty more.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on tumbr: www.sullensunshine.tumblr.com


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